


Spoils of war

by tugela54



Series: Be still, my love. [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst with a Happy Ending, Claiming Bites, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Knotting, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Size Difference, Social Issues, Werewolf Derek, Werewolf Discrimination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 03:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10936362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tugela54/pseuds/tugela54
Summary: Stiles and Derek circumnavigate their feelings and Derek's history, as they transition from boss and employee into a relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some explaining, lots of angst, lots of fluff,. So much fluff...

The train is packed. Stiles snuggles deeper into his new coat. The satiny tartan lining is heaven. And if he thought his old coat fit him perfectly, well… There is something to be said about a personal tailor.

   The best, though, is that it smells like Derek.He shrugs one shoulder and tilt his head at the same time to smell the traces of cologne and ever-present musk of _alpha_ on the broad lapel.

   _My alpha is taking care of me._

   Stiles hopes, with all his heart, that he will never get tired of the bubble of warmth that inflates in his stomach at those words, at the inches of air that seem to lift his feet off the ground.

   _Derek Hale is my alpha._

His dreamy smile grows and grows until he feels like an idiot, _again_ , for the millionth time that week.

   Across from him a grey-haired African-American lady catches his eyes. She smiles and inclines her head. When she looks away she is still smiling.

   Stiles snuggles deeper into his coat.

oOo

   Walking in to the office he sets two coffees down on his desk, then hangs up his coat on the stand behind him. He checks his watch.

   “Good morning, mister Stilinski.”

   “Haaa…” Stiles snaps around, hand to his chest. Derek leans against the filing cabinet next to his desk, his own coat draped over his arm, briefcase in hand, suit jacket struggling over the expanse of his arms and shoulders.

   “I swear to god I am going to tie a bell around your neck one of these days.”

   The corner of Derek’s eyebrow lifts. “Need to keep you on your toes.”

   “Is that right?” Stiles folds his arms.

   Derek nods slowly. He steps closer, his hand going up to caress Stiles’ cheek with the back of his fingers. “You coming over tonight?”

   “Well…” Stiles’ eyes flutter for a second. “It is my coat’s two-week anniversary today.”

   “They grow up so fast,” the corner of Derek’s mouth tick up as his gaze follow the path of his hand where it slides down to Stiles’ neck.

   “I know you’ve been counting the days too, smartass.”

   “Just because we said-”

   “Derek, I’m fine. _So_ fine. _Rearing_.”

   Derek gently wrap his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck. “Don’t want to hurt you. Ever again.”

   “Stop torturing yourself. That was different.”

   “Still feel like a bastard.”

   Stiles softly takes hold of his wrist, his head tilted to look him in the eye. “Listen to me. You don’t ever have to apologise for that again, okay? _Ever_ ,” he runs his thumb along the inside of Derek’s wrist. “I just wish you had told me sooner.”

   “Not exactly something you mention over budget reports,” he scowls, intent on where a mole on Stiles’ throat peek out behind his thumb.

   “Well, it’s just us now,” Stiles flattens his hands over Derek’s lapels. “Just you and me.”

   “Hmm.”

   “Okay?”

   Derek nods after a bit. “Okay.”

   Stiles let his hands slip down and underneath Derek’s jacket, his fingers curling over his shirt and the warm, bulky planes of his stomach and sides that it covers. “Sooo…

   “So, why don’t you come over for dinner tonight, then we can celebrate.”

   “And we can skip right to dessert?”

   “You did not just say that.”

   “Oh I did, mister Hale. With a cherry on top.”  

   Derek tightens his grip on Stiles’ neck slightly, and with his other hand on his hip, gently reel him in until they are flush, his belt buckle pressing just above Stiles’ navel. Stiles circles Derek’s waist under his jacket and let Derek tilt his chin up with his thumb, hand still around his neck.

   It is always a surprise how soft such a large man’s lips are. And Stiles always wants to taste them just that bit longer. But Derek’s tongue press against his lips and Stiles opens without thought. It’s slow and soft, Derek’s grip strong yet gentle on his neck, and Stiles leans into his solid bulk, going up to his toes, that thick, solid arm around his waist pulling him even closer…

   “Okay,” Stiles breaks away after some time, hands on Derek’s chest as he tucks his head under his chin.

   “Am I keeping you from your work, mister Stilinski?” Derek asks, his stubbly Adam’s apple scraping against Stiles’ forehead.

   “Work is the last thing on my mind right now, mister Hale. And yours too, evidently,” Stiles smirks when press in close to Derek.

   Derek lets out a soft, choked-off groan. “ _I_ can multi task.”

   “Good. You _do_ have a very busy schedule today.”

   “Guess I better get to it then.”

   “Uh huh.”

   Derek steps away, but keeps his hand on Stiles neck a few seconds longer, their gazes locked. Stiles blinks first and lower his gaze. As always. Only then does Derek let go with a small hum.

   At his door, Derek turns. “Dinner’s at seven-thirty.”

   “I’ll be there.”

   Derek thrums his fingers on the glass. He flashes his eyes once, lips curled into a smile that’s more predatory than anything. “See that you are.”

   Stiles has never made so many mistakes in one day, his concentration shot.

   His boss forgives him every time.

oOo

“Mister Stilinski!”

   Stiles looks back over his shoulder just as the door to a gleaming black Town Car parked at the curb opens, his breath fogging away in the slight morning breeze just like the white plumes of exhaust.

   A uniformed man climbs out, touch his cap and he smiles at him before he walks to the back and opens the door.

   “Ah…” Stiles looks up and down the street.

   “Mister Hale sent me, sir. I will be your driver from now on.”

   “From now on?” Stiles pulls his coat tighter.

   “Yes sir. Please,” he motions inside. “You’ll be much more comfortable inside.”

   Stiles only needs to give the plush, cosy interior of the car one look before his boots crunch over the dirty snow.

   The door shuts with a solid thud, all sound and the cold gone at once. The smell of rich leather wraps around him like his coat, and as the car pulls away from the curb, it’s engine purring through the floorboards, he fishes for his cell phone.

   The driver glances in his rear-view mirror before a glass screen slides up from the console separating the front and back. Stiles’ mouth is still slightly ajar when Derek answer.

   “-Stiles? You there?”

   “Hey, hi, ah yeah, I’m here.”

   “Everything okay? You in the car?”

   “Yes I am _in the car_. Derek, what is this?”

   “I want to know you’re safe. I can’t stand the thought of you on the subway.”

   “I’ve been taking the subway for almost a year now. Zero incidents.”

   “And I have been on edge for everyday of that year.”

   Stiles blinks. “Y-you have?”

   “Of course. I told you. At least now I can do something about it without looking like a creep.”

   “Derek…” Stiles breathes, his hand trailing over the plush upholstery. “This isn’t… It’s too much.”

   “It’s not. And I told you I take care of what’s mine.”

   Stiles ducks his head. His cheeks hurt by the time the glass towers of Manhattan flicker through the steel girders of the Williamsburg Bridge, staccato flashes of brilliance in the clear morning sky that Stiles realize, with a start, will be his new normal from now on.

oOo

“I think I should quit.”

   “Quit what?” Derek asks, emptying the steaming pot of clams in a colander in the sink before stepping back to the stove top.

   “You know,” Stiles follows Derek from where he is perched on the edge of the giant kitchen island. “My job.”

   Derek slowly looks up. “Come again?”

   “You know I’ve always wanted to apply at the research division, but then I got distracted,” he ends with a smirk. “And besides, doesn’t it bother you that we’re such a cliché? I mean, boss and assistant…”

   “lycan and human.”

   “You know what I mean.”

   “Aren’t you the one that said, and I quote, _I don’t give a fuck about societal norms_?” Derek cocks an eyebrow in his direction before dipping his pinkie finger in the creamy sauce currently bubbling away in a saucepan.

   “And I still don’t,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “But things are different now. I want to be able to contribute to us, not just…”

   “Remain a lowly assistant,” Derek sucks off his pinkie, then begins to stir the sauce, the wondrous aroma of the white wine reduction reaching Stiles’ nose.

   “Derek…” Stiles sighs.

   Derek sets the wooden spoon down and kills the flame under the saucepan, then walks over to Stiles to stand between his knees. He fits Stiles’ waist in the circle of his hands, their eyes more or less level. “You know you don’t even need to work anymore, right?”

   “What? And stay home? Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?”

   “Well,” Derek grins, sliding his hands up Stiles’ sides.

   “Stop,” Stiles push at his hands with a grin of his own. “I’m being serious.”

   Derek cups the side of Stiles’ neck, his thumb running up and down the edge of his jaw. “Of course I won’t stop you, babe. Though I’m gonna lie to you if I say it will be… strange not to have you in my sight anymore every day. So, expect me to make a nuisance of myself in your department.”

   Stiles runs his hand down Derek’s arm to where his sleeve is rolled up tight around his upper forearm. “Gonna check up on your omega, mister Hale?”

   “Can’t help it,” Derek tilts his chin up and leaves a soft, slow kiss. “I’m biologically hard wired.” He leaves another soft kiss.

   “Yeah yeah, use the alpha card.”

   “There’s something else I also want to use right now.”

   “And what would that be?”

   Derek folds Stiles’ legs around his waist and stands back from the island, taking him with in one easy motion. One arm cradled around his lower back, the other has a wide and firm grip around the back of his neck as he plunders Stiles’ mouth. He has the wherewithal to turn off the burner as he walks past, his tongue never leaving Stiles’ mouth.

   Stiles’ hands glide from Derek’s face over the breadth of his shoulders and back again.

   Somewhere along the hallway Derek divulges them of both their shirts.

   The rest of their clothes gets lost from the bedroom’s doorway to the bed.

oOo

“Hey, how was lunch?” Stiles smiles before he looks up from his screen, his smile slipping when he catches sight of Derek’s face. “What wrong?”

   “Ah, I didn’t exactly go to lunch with a client,” he says, a touch of red colouring his cheeks.

   “Huh?”

   “Derek, honey? I can’t find the damn thing in the limo. Can you call the restau… Oh!”

   A woman with black, shoulder-length hair, streaked with silver, appears around the corner. One manicured hand goes up to the thin string of pearls revealed by the collar of her silk blouse, her Hounds-tooth jacket draped over her shoulders.

   Stiles blinks at the stranger. “Ah, hi,” he slowly stands.

   “Mom, this is Stiles. Stiles, my mom.”

   The woman steps forward. “Talia, please,” she smiles, and instead of taking Stiles’ proffered hand, cups his shoulders. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” and promptly pulls him in for a hug.

   Round eyes trained on Derek, Stiles gives a soft oomph before he hesitantly hugs back. “Ah, yeah, that’s me.”

   She stands back, hands still around his arms. “We should all go out to dinner. I would love to meet your parents, sweetie. Derek?”

   “Ah, mom, Stiles and I-”

   “No, I insist. We have to celebrate.”

   They both look at Stiles, one pair of eyes gushing with joy, the other with a bit of consternation.

   “Ah, celebrate?” Stiles blinks an unsure smile onto his face.

   Talia looks between them. “Your claiming, of course.”

oOo

“This way, please,” the tuxedo-clad maître d’ shows them the way.

  Stiles goes first, his dad right behind. They walk through the main dining area, soft recessed lighting and understated luxury enfolding the patrons in soft warm hues and even softer conversation. Waiters glide between the tables as if on air, holding silver trays with artful little towers of cuisine.

   “Aren’t we havin’ dinner in here?” the Sheriff whispers when it becomes clear that they are leaving it all behind, fiddling with his tie.

   “No idea,” Stiles whispers back from the corner of his mouth.

   The maître d’ stops in front of a set of smoked glass French doors. He slides them open and stand to the side, letting Stiles walk in first.

   It is a private dining room, complete with its own lounge area of two Chesterfield couches and wingbacks arranged in front of a stone fireplace, the fire happily crackling away in the grate. Opposite the seating area stands a dining table set for four, surrounded by elegant French armoires and floor lamps.

   Derek looks up when the doors open, reclined in one of the wingbacks, ankle draped over a knee, his mother sitting in the chair next to him. Both stand up, Derek buttoning his jacket, Talia smoothing down her black cocktail dress, a smile warming her features.

   She steps forward, both hands held out. “You must be Sheriff Stilinski.”

   “John, please,” he smiles, taking both her hands, glancing at Stiles.

   Stiles inches closer to Derek. “Dad, this is Derek.”

   Derek steps forward, holding out a hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Sheriff.”

   The sheriff too has to look up at Derek, though he takes his hand unflinchingly, making no secret of looking him up and down. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

   “Thank you for meeting us on such short notice.”

   The sheriff waves it away. “Jersey’s just across the river. And it’s not like my son’s getting married everyday.”

   “Claimed,” Stiles reminds him under his breath.

   “Isn’t it the same thing?” the sheriff mumbles back

   “It basically is,” Talia smiles. “But without the rings.”

   “Ah,” the sheriff sticks his hands into his pockets.

   “I have to be honest, John, I have never heard of Beacon Rock.”

   “Well, blink and you’ll miss it.”

   While their parents make idle conversation, Stiles closes the distance between him and Derek. Derek takes his hand and pulls him in the rest of the way until the alpha’s chin brushes the top of his head. He slips one hand under Stiles’ light grey jacket, sliding it around to the small of his back, while the other settles around the back of his neck. He lowers his head and press a whiskered cheek to the side of Stiles’ face. “I see Mister Berkshire did you justice.”

   This close Stiles has to crane his neck to be able to look Derek in the eye. “Lay it on, big guy. You’re still not off the hook. Be glad I didn’t max out that credit card of yours.”

   “I told you, she ambushed me.”

   “We haven’t even discussed it yet.”

   “But we did talk about it. You know I’m going to claim to you.”

   “That’s not the point.”  

   Derek slips his hand around his neck. “I promise you, this will be on your terms.”

   “Oh you better believe it will,” Stiles pats his chest.

   The sheriff clears his throat.

   Stiles turns around, Derek’s hand still resting on his neck.

   “John,” Talia inclines her head. “What would you like to drink?”

   “Scotch’ll be nice.”

   “I’ll have a single Tanqueray and tonic,” Talia smiles at Derek.

   Derek looks down to Stiles.

   “Ah… Same?”

   “And I’ll have my usual, thank you, Andrew.”

   The maître d’ nods, then shuts the door.

   Derek’s thumb brush across Stiles’ hairline. “Shall we sit down?”

   The sheriff tracks Derek’s hand and tries his best at a smile. “Don’t mind if I do.”

   Derek guides Stiles forward, right past the sheriff, his hand never leaving Stiles’ neck. The sheriff takes the one sofa while Derek steers Stiles to the one opposite, Talia sitting back down in her wingback. Derek waits for Stiles to sit down before he settles himself next to him. He leans back, straightening his jacket and rests his ankle on his foot, making sure his thigh half-leans over Stiles lap before stretching his arm along the back of the couch, brushing his bicep against Stiles’ shoulders. His drapes his other hand over his ankle.

   At once Stiles is enveloped in Derek’s cologne and the ever-present undertone of his musk. Before he’s even thinking about he’s inching even closer to his huge frame, practically tucking himself under Derek’s arm.

   The sheriff too gets comfortable, but watches Derek closely the whole time.

   The seconds drag by.

   “Well,” the sheriff breaks the silence. “I guess I should’ve seen this coming. Stiles never could shut up about you. I mean, even before you two,” he gestures at them, “You know… It was Derek this, and Derek that.”  

   Derek glances down at Stiles with a soft smile. “Took me a while to get my head out of my ass and see what was right in front of me.”

   “And don’t your forget that.”

   “Dad…”

   “Quite an age gap between the two of you,” John forges on.

   “Not much more than between you and mom,” Stiles shoots right back.

   John smiles to the side. “He’s got me there.”

   Talia beams at Stiles. “Caleb would’ve adored you, Stiles,” Talia says, her eyes shining in the lamp light.

   “Caleb?”

   Stiles folds both his hands over Derek’s, squeezing slightly.

   “My late husband, Derek’s father,” Talia answers. “He passed when Derek was in college.”

   “Oh,” John shifts in his seats. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

   “It’s quite alright.”

   “You know, my wife passed when Stiles was nine. I know what you’ve been through.”

   “Well,” Talia lifts her chin. “We’re all family now, aren’t we?”

   “Yes,” John nods, looking between her and where Derek has Stiles tucked under his arm. “Yes, we are.”

   The door opens and in walks a waiter with a tray of drinks. Once everyone has been handed their glasses, he leaves again with a slight nod.

   “A toast,” Talia stands. “To Stiles and Derek.”

   Everyone follows her lead, standing up, crystal clinking.

   “And to loved ones no longer with us,” John adds.

   Talia turns to him, her smile soft. She clinks his glass.

oOo

“Let’s just go back to your place,” Stiles chuckles, holding a napkin under his pizza slice with his feet tucked under him while Derek shifts around on his couch, the old piece of furniture creaking under his bulk.

   “’m fine,” Derek mutters, stuffing another cushion behind his back, his shoulder bumping against Stiles for the umpteenth time.

   Stiles just saves his pizza from hitting the floor. “Dude, you barely fit as it is.”

   “I’m _fine_ ,” Derek growls. “And stop calling me dude.”

   “Don’t snap at me because you have a couch spring stuck up your ass,” Stiles slurps at a string of cheese. “This was your idea, remember? I was perfectly happy having movie night at your place.”

   “Yeah, well,” Derek spreads his knees and lift his hips to adjust the seat cushion, “Can’t wait to get rid of this thing.”

   “Ah, unless you plan on buying me a new one, get used to it, frowny face,” he stuffs the rest of his pizza in his mouth. “This couch and I go waaaay back.”

   Derek grimace at Stiles open-mouth chewing before he plops down again, which has Stiles topple half against him. “Why would I get you another couch? Mine is perfect.”

   “Because I prefer _not_ to sit on the floor in my own apartment?” Stiles pushes back from him.

   Derek looks at him askance. “What are you talking about? We’re gonna get rid of all this junk.”

   “Excuse me?” Stiles swallows hastily. “And why, _pray tell_ , would we get rid of all of my _furniture_?”

   “Because I’m not gonna have hand-me-downs clutter my apartment.”

   “Huh?”

   “When you move in with me?”

   Stiles blinks a few times. “ _When I move in with you_?”

   “Yes, Stiles, when you move in with me.”

   “And when did we decide that?”

   Derek looks around the little apartment like he is searching for something. “What’s there to decide?”

   “Derek! You can’t just decide for me! This is important! We need to talk about these things!”

   “What’s there to talk about? I’m your alpha, you’re moving in with me once I’ve claimed you. Discussed.” He shifts to side with another grimace. “If not sooner.”

   Stiles doesn’t even try to close his mouth. “Just like that?”

   Derek leans back. “What did you think was going to happen? It’s not like _I’m_ going to move in with _you_.”

   Stiles sticks his tongue against his teeth. “Okay then,” he folds his feet out from under him and stand up.

   “Stiles…”

   Stiles walks to his front door where he takes his jacket off the hook.

   “Stiles, c’mon,” Derek leans back over the couch. “It’s freezing outside.”

   “Hence the jacket, Einstein,” Stiles roughly shucks it on, pulls the door open and slams it close behind him.

   He makes the landing and three steps when something big and wide muscles past him, half squashing him against the wall. Derek takes a stand two steps below him, eyes just about level, one hand on the wall with the other on the railing.

   “Move,” Stiles glowers.

   “Stiles, can we just-”

   “Derek…”

   “Please don’t do this? Please?”

   Stiles lets a shuddery breath from between pressed lips. “You have no idea how mad I am at you right now.”

   “And I swear to god I have no idea what I did wrong.”

   “Seriously? This is the _second_ time you just make decisions without talking to me! I mean, is that how it’s going to be from now on? You’re the alpha, so the stupid omega has no say in anything anymore?”

   It’s Derek’s turn to let his mouth fall open. “How can you even think that?”

   “What am I supposed to think? These are big steps. Moving in with you,” he counts them off on his fingers, “getting claimed by you. Huge!” Stiles lets his hands drop to his sides before he sits down on the steps with a huff.

   Derek hesitates for a second before he also sits down, half on his side, one leg propped underneath him against the narrow tread while his other knee bump the wall. He tentatively sets a hand on Stiles’ knee. “I’m sorry, okay?  I honestly didn’t… I just always assumed you are okay with everything.”

   Stiles sighs. “And that’s the problem. You don’t discuss these things with me. You just assume. Exactly like you said so yourself.”

   Derek’s eyes fall to the steps between them. “Please don’t be mad at me, I’m still old school about some things,” he gazes back up, “like taking care of you.”

   Stiles’ frown softens into grin. “Na uh, don’t you dare look at me like that, I want to stay mad at you.”

   “It’s the truth,” Derek’s eyes grow big, his eyebrows slanting off to the sides.

   “I know it is,” Stiles reaches out to cup Derek’s face, his beard soft and scratchy at the same time. “But next time? We talk first, okay? No more assumptions. Even if it’s a no-brainer. I want us to _talk_.”

   “Promise,” Derek turns to kiss his palm.

   Stiles smirks. “You know, it’s times like these that I wish I was like your mom.”

   “What? Why?”

   “Because even though she’s an omega she’s your pack’s alpha, and everyone listens to her.”

   “Being an omega’s never stopped you.”

   “I know,” Stiles runs his hand through Derek’s hair. “But how cool would it be if I could tell the big bad alpha what to do.”

   Derek snorts. “You always tell me what to do.”

oOo

Stiles stares out the passenger seat window at the still tender foliage of late spring that lends a soft emerald hue to the whole tree-lined street. “And there I was thinking the Park has the only green in the city,” he muses.

   Derek only smiles, slowing the Porsche Cayenne down to manoeuvre it into the only available parking space. Stiles turns to him with a frown. “Your big outing is the Upper West-Side?”

   “Not quite,” Derek twists in his seat to expertly reverse the huge SUV into the space one-handed. Once he’s turned off the engine and gotten out, he walks around the car to open Stiles’ door for him. Stiles climbs out, frown deepening.

   “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?” Derek holds out his hand

   “What are you up to?”

   “Nothing,” Derek threads Stiles’ fingers through his own.

   Stiles gets distracted by the handsome Victorian Brownstones that line the street on both sides, each narrow, three-storey townhouse a selection of tall bay windows and intricate carved stone capitals, curved steps leading up to each front door from the sidewalk.

   “Beautiful,” he murmurs.

   The jingle of keys pulls his attention to where Derek produces a set from one pocket while he steers them towards one of the stairways. Hand-in-hand they climb the wide stone steps to the front door of a small-leaf ivy-covered townhouse that creeps up all the way to the second story.

   Derek slips a key into the dark timber-and bevelled-glass window front door, the entrance alcove framed by a carved sandstone surround and lintel.

   “Ah, are we visiting someone?” Stiles’ frown gets overtaken by his rising eyebrows as Derek swings the door open, then stands back.

   “After you.”

   “Derek, what is this?”

   The door swings open to reveal an entrance hall from where a staircase with a carved banister curls its way to the upper stories, a small but sparkling chandelier throwing spots of sunlight across the polished hardwood floor and white walls.

   “It’s a home. Ours, if you want it to be.”

   Stiles chin almost smacks his sternum.

   “After you,” he urges.

   Stiles steps inside, mouth still agape. He slowly walks from the foyer through a high arch into the open living space, green-tinged sunlight streaming in through the bay windows, while a marble fireplace dominates the wall next to it.

   “Living and dining room. And the kitchen is through there,” Derek points with his chin.

   Stiles walks in a daze, Derek following behind.

   A white-marble island is surrounded by glass fronted cabinetry and black-and-white checker floors. Beyond the huge space, floor to ceiling French doors lead out onto a small patio, with steps that lead down to a narrow but deep garden, honeysuckle and azaleas just beginning to bloom.

   Stiles has one hand spread out on the marble of the island, staring out the French doors.

   “We can gut everything, of course, remodel the whole place, just the way you want it. Or we just keep looking.”

   Stiles slowly turns to him. “Okay, stop the bus. Why are we looking at real estate? What’s wrong with the penthouse?”

   Dust motes flicker in the light around Derek’s head. “It’s not a home. I want to make a home with you. I want a new start.”

   Stiles’ mouth works silently, blinking at Derek.

   “Come,” Derek holds his hand out with a soft smile, “Let’s check out upstairs.”

   The first floor has two bedrooms (one with an en-suite) and a study - the latter with its own fireplace flanked by build-in bookcases and tall, bright bay windows just like in the lounge.

   The second floor has another two bedrooms, small living space, and the master bedroom with its own en-suite. The walk-in closet is bigger than Stiles’ whole apartment.

   “Personally, I think the whole place needs an update, but she’s got good bones,” Derek says as he looks around.

   Stiles’ mouth is still slightly ajar, moving silently from one room to the next, hand trailing across wood panelling and carved doorframes, looking up at the mile-high ceilings and crystal light-sconces.

   “How has this place not been snatched up yet?”

   “I know people,” Derek says, distracted by a scuffmark against a length of skirting.

   “Of course you do,” Stiles shakes his head before he gazes around the master bedroom again, sunlight streaming in. A similar fireplace than the one in the study adorns the wall opposite the windows. “So big…”

   “Well,” Derek walks closer to stand behind him before he curls his arms around Stiles’ waist to pull him in flush to his chest, resting his chin on Stiles’ head. “One bedroom for us, guest rooms for your dad and the rest of my family. And the others…”

   “Don’t you get any ideas, mister,” Stiles answers quickly.

   “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Derek chuckles, and leaves a kiss on his crown.

   Stiles turns around in his hold, leaning back to look up at him. “Derek, this… I…”

   “You don’t have to do anything but take your time. It’s not going anywhere, I’ve made sure of that. And like I said,” he covers the small of Stiles’ back with his hands, “This is just a start. We have a whole city to look at.”

   “You really want to get a new place?”

   “I want _us_ to get a new place. Together.”

   “And you’re letting _me_ decide?”

   “I am.”

   Stiles runs his hands up Derek’s torso, following the bulky contours of his chest up to the collar of his Henley. He then leans up on his toes and Derek lowers his head to meet him halfway.

   Derek slips his hand to it’s place on Stiles’ nape and leads the kiss, tongue licking slow and deep into Stiles’ mouth.

   Stiles’ eyes stay closed a few seconds after they part. His hands remain on Derek’s chest as he lowers back down to his heels. When he opens them again Derek’s pupils are ringed with red, chest rising, his gaze pinning Stiles to the spot.

   “So… Potential? Move on?” Derek asks.

   Stiles eyes flicker between Derek’s. “Definite potential.” He smooths a hand over Derek’s shoulder. “You did good.”

   Derek takes a deep breath, his chest swelling, eyes flashing. He pulls Stiles into another embrace, his feet off the floor this time.

oOo

Stiles stops in his tracks a few feet into the lift lobby of Derek’s apartment, one arm paused mid-way out his jacket sleeve.

   Through the floor-to-ceiling wall of steel framed glass doors, dozens of glass hurricane lamps throw soft pools of light along the grey stone of the roof-top garden patio, the wild grasses and other potted shrubs lit up in brilliant spots of green in the light of dusk.

   With a slight frown and small smirk, Stiles walks closer, dropping his jacket on an end table. He slides one of the doors open, always reminded of how he needs to use both hands and put his back into it, when Derek uses the tips of his fingers.

   Sirens and horns float up on a soft breeze, which is laden with the smells of the city, mixed with the fresh humidity that is early New York summer.

   With the skyline that dominates the encroaching dark around him in towers of brilliance, Stiles follows the path of soft pools of light through the landscaped garden, stalks brushing against his pant legs.

   He rounds the corner where the illuminated spire of the Empire State building slices into the night in the distance, the dark expanse of Central Park to the right.

   Derek looks over his shoulder from where he has both hands on the glass balustrade.

   “Hey,” he smiles.

   “Hey yourself,” Stiles smiles back.

   Derek holds out a hand. Stiles walks closer until Derek can curl his fingers around the back of his neck and tilt his head back to leave a soft kiss on his lips.

   “What’s going on?” Stiles asks.

   Derek trails his hands down Stiles’ arms to link their fingers. “The other day,” he frowns, eyes looking down between them, “I realized that I… I haven’t properly asked your permission to claim you.”

   Stiles’ forehead smooths out. “Derek, it’s okay, you don’t-”

   “No. I do. I _want_ to. And I want to do this right.” He takes a step back, Stiles’ hands still clasped in his own.

   And as Stiles looks on, Derek sinks down on one knee. “Ohmygod,” he whispers under his breath.

   Derek takes a deep breath, then looks up at Stiles. “It’s true what I told your dad. For more than a year I’ve been blind, because I never thought I could deserve anything or anyone like you. Not with how I’ve fucked up people’s lives.”

   “Derek, no, you’ve never-”

   “Yes, I have. That’s why I’ve been locking myself away with fucking aconite injections all these years, like it could somehow be some kind of absolution. But you… You are so strong, and so incredibly brave, and so, so beautiful. And when I’m with you, I… I sometimes believe it.”

   Stiles swallows heavily, his eyes shining in the candle lights. “Believe what?”

   “That I’m not responsible for my father’s death.”

   Stiles’ breath catches in his throat.

   “So, Stiles Stilinski,” Derek says as he firms his grip on Stiles’ hands. “If you will let me, I will mark you as mine, so everyone knows that you belong to me, and I to you, and I promise I will protect you, and care for you, and _worship_ you, for as long as there is breath in me.”

   Stiles’ nods, quick, jerky movements while his mouth works silently, until with an almost gasp, “Of course, you stupid, stupid wolf, of course.”

   Derek is on his feet, Stiles gathered in his arms and lifted off the ground, his shoes knocking against Derek’s shins.

   “I love you… so… fucking much,” Derek says between kissing Stiles.

   “Love you more,” Stiles says back with his arms locked around Derek’s neck. He kisses him back as best he can, or at least try to keep up with the hunger in Derek’s tongue and lips. Soon his skin is tingling from Derek’s beard, and he knows the alpha can feel his burgeoning erection press against his belt from where Derek is holding him up in his arms.

   “Now,” Stiles breathes against the side of Derek’s face when his mouth his free.

   “Now what?” Derek asks, his lips wet against Stiles’ throat.

   “Now. Claim me now.”

   Derek halts his ministrations and pulls back. “Are… are you sure?”

   Stiles nods. “Absolutely. We’ve been waiting long enough, don’t you think?”

   Derek sets him back down again. He runs his hands up and over Stiles’ neck and shoulders, then back down to his waist. Though his eyes remain their normal grey-green, the tightness of his grip belies the alpha’s control.

   “Okay,” Derek swallows. “Okay.”

oOo

Derek rises up to look at Stiles. Only one lamp is on, in the far corner of the bedroom, the rest of the light supplied by the city’s glow that reflects from the ceiling. It makes the light sheen of sweat already present across his skin glow, the scattering of moles marker tips across the paleness.

   He runs a hand down Stiles’ flank, let his thumb skim across an erect nipple, down the rungs of his rib cage and sharp angle of his hipbone to the firm globe off one buttock where his leg is hooked around Derek’s waist.

   “You’re trembling,” Derek says.

   “Feels like it’s the first time,” Stiles answers, running his hands over the solid mounds and valleys of Derek’s back.

   “I’ll stop. Just say the word.”

   “Don’t you dare,” Stiles tightens the grip of his leg around Derek’s waist. He twists his other leg out from under a thick, hairy thigh to join the one already around Derek’s waist, which pulls his cheeks apart.

   Derek cants his hips to let his erection slip down the cleft. He gathers Stiles in his arms and nose his chin up. “Love you so much,” he breathes against his throat as the head of his cock catches on the slick-shiny furled entrance.

   “Love you more… ahhh…” Stiles’ mouth falls open, his legs and arms contracting around Derek as the alpha breaches him, inch by slow inch.

   As Derek falls into a slow, deep pace, he leans down and gently close his mouth over a spot at the juncture of Stiles’ neck and shoulder. He suckles the spot, then pulls away with a slow lick of tongue and lips. “Here,” he whispers, his breath labored with the deep roll of his hips, warm over the moist patch of skin.

   Stiles can only nod, looking up at him.

   “It’s gonna hurt, but I’ll be quick, ‘kay?”

   Again Stiles only nods, holding on to Derek’s back, his eyes intent on him.

   “Fuck,” Derek squeezes his eyes shut, “’m so close already.”

   “Don’t stop,” Stiles whispers – out of breath - and leans his head to side to mouth at Derek’s forearm.

   Soon, the rhythmic slap of skin-on-skin matches Stiles’ whimpers. Stiles feet jostle with every flex of Derek’s ass, his fingers digging into the thick ropes of muscle down his back.

   “So close,” Derek groans against Stiles lips, plunging in and out of him.

   “Me… too…” Stiles gets out.

   Derek shifts his knees and speeds up, punching out deep groans from Stiles.

   “Derek,” Stiles whimpers, holding on as the alpha starts driving into him with his whole body. He buries his face against the base of Derek’s throat when his grip becomes a multitude of pinpricks along his back.

   But, with a short growl, Derek nudges his head back with his own and press his face against Stiles throat. “Mine,” he growls, his voice warbled around his canines.

   “Yes, alpha, yours,” Stiles throws his head back even further.

   “Mine,” Derek growls deeper, hips stuttering as his knot begins to swell.

   “Y-yours,” Stiles whimpers before Derek slams forward one last time, punching the air from Stiles’ lungs as his knot stretches the rim, then slips inside. At once Stiles is coming in lazy spurts, Derek grinding deeper and deeper around his contractions.

   Seconds later the inner walls of Stiles’ entrance are pushed outward with the first pulse of Derek’s climax. And with a deep growl he bites down.

   Stiles eyes go wide, bowing off the bed as he cries out. Derek bites down again, crushing Stiles back into the mattress.  


	2. Chapter 2

Derek is used to people making way when they see him coming.

   It’s the breadth of him, mixed with the fact that he towers a full head above most of his peers. His thick, black eyebrows that always seem to want to touch in the middle doesn’t exactly help, either.

   But when the pair of female students walking towards him suddenly clutch their books to their chests and veer quite deliberately off the path when they catch sight of him, his fingers tighten around the straps of his backpack. One grabs hold of her friends’ sweater, her gaze shifting between the concrete walkway and Derek’s face.

   He watches (eyebrows almost touching) as they give him a wide berth, constantly glancing over their shoulders.

   Without breaking his stride he shakes his head. His stomach grumbles and he decides on a detour to the cafeteria, the two students already forgotten. He still has enough time to get to class in any case.

   It is not until he approaches the building that he realizes something is amiss. There are students milling about as always, coming in and out of the entrance, but everyone is either talking on their cell phones or in hushed conversation.

   He gets another few weary looks as he walks into the building, which only serves to tighten the knot that has begun to form in his stomach. The normally loud cafeteria is strangely hushed, the space practically empty save for the cluster of students gathered around several of the new wide-screen box-set televisions mounted to one wall in the seating area.

   Frowning, Derek walks closer. A split screen shows a news anchor from one of the international news networks, and a reporter talking hurriedly, _Breaking News_ flashing across the bottom of the screen.

   “-can confirm that the death toll now stands at seventy-four, with at least two dozen of those fatalities from Pearson Junior High. This makes it the worst mass murder in American history, Christiana. As you can see behind me, local law enforcement has cordoned off several blocks around the area where the bloody rampage continued. The mayor of Boise and the governor of Idaho are expected to hold a joint-”

   The camera pans to a sidewalk lined with quaint shopfronts and café’s. There are gasps around Derek, hands covering mouths, heads shaken.

   Dozens of white sheet-covered bodies lie scattered along the pavement between toppled chairs and tables, blotches of red seeping through the fabric. Some lie in the road between stopped cars, one of the vehicles with a door torn off. Several gash marks run along the vehicles length.

   The knot in Derek’s stomach turns into a ball of acid.

   “Kids, man. He ripped _kids_ apart,” a guy next to Derek says.

   “What happened?” Derek asks.

   The guy looks at him. “Why don’t you go an’ ask one of your friends, you halfbreed.”

   There are a few muted gasps. Derek’s hand curl into a fist around his strap. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

   “Greg, stop it. Let’s go,” a girl next to _Greg_ pulls him away by his arm. Greg still glares at Derek as he steps back. Several others do the same.

   “It was a lycan,” another guy speaks up, eyeing Derek wearily. “He totally lost his shit, walked into a school and started killing people, then ran out into the street and just carried on.” 

   “What do you mean he just lost his shit?”

   “Exactly what I said, man. Apparently he was like half-shifted or something. Feral. Just began to attack people out of nowhere. Took three policemen emptying their guns to stop him.”

   Derek glances back to the screen where and army of ambulances and police cruisers surround a school.

oOo

The shrill ring of his cell pulls his head from his textbook. Derek sets his pen down and picks it up before he flips it open.

   “Hey, mom,” he answers.

   “Derek? Honey, are you okay?”

   “Of course. Why?” Derek frowns, picking his pen up again and pressing his phone between shoulder and ear.

   “Haven’t you heard?”

   There’s a sharp twinge in Derek’s gut. “Oh, yeah, you mean Boise. Yeah, it’s really awful.”

   “Listen, I want you to come home, okay? Just until things have died down.”

   “Mom…” he groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

   “Honey, please.”

   “ _Mom_ , stop being so dramatic. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

   “ _Derek_. This is not a negotiation.”

   “Okay,” Derek sighs. “Okay. I’ll leave in the morning. But just for a few days, I have midterms in two weeks.”

oOo

The _beep-beep_ of the tow-away truck echoes across the parking lot in front of Derek’s building as his classic 1969 Camaro gets winched onto the flatbed, the first leaves of autumn scattering across the asphalt.

   He stands silently, arms crossed. It’s not the four shredded tires or the busted windows that threaten to light up his eyes and have his claws slice into his palms. It’s the crudely painted _dog fucker_ and _half breed_ splashed in red across the hood and doors that sees the veins pop up along the solid ridges of his forearms, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening.

   “I heard they tried to segregate some primary school in a town in Alabama.”

   Derek glances to the side. A young guy – freshman from the looks of it – stands next to him, more than a head shorter with a lithe frame hidden by baggy jeans and an oversized t-shirt. His omega scent compliments his soft, human musk.

   “Apparently a bunch of parents and the town mayor showed up and demanded that all the lycan children be removed from the classes, to prevent a similar bloodbath as in Boise.” He looks up at Derek with cornflower blue eyes from under his styled blonde bangs.

   For a few quiet seconds the state of his car is forgotten. Derek shrugs it off and looks back to the truck. “Well, what did you expect. They still have anti-lycan laws in the South. Bigots have always looked for a reason to hate.”

   “And they always will,” the guy says, “no matter the facts. That guy did what he did because he was mentally unstable, not because of his rut. Fox is so full of shit.”

   This time Derek stares at him for a bit longer.

   “Conner,” he says with a small smile and holds out his hand, staring up at Derek.

   “Derek,” he takes it, Connor’s hand swallowed up by his own. He doesn’t miss the way Connor’s eyes flick over him before he looks down at his sneakers. It makes something warm tickle in his chest.

   “Shitty thing what they did to your car, man. I’m really sorry.”

   Derek grinds his teeth. “I restored her myself.”

   “Assholes,” Connor shakes his head.

   “Yeah.”

   They watch in silence as the Camaro is settled on the flatbed. Derek’s skin starts to prickle when Connor stays right by his side.

   “You’re a senior, right? I’ve seen you around campus,” Connor squints up at him. “I mean, it’s kinda hard to miss ya.”

   “Ah, yeah. Listen, I need to get going, I was supposed to drive home today, so I need to find a rental.”

   “Oh, yeah sure man. Hey! I’m driving up to Syracuse tomorrow. I can give you a ride if you’re going that way.”

   Derek turns to him with a shallow smirk. “You always offer strange alphas a ride?”

   “You don’t strike me as a typical knothead,” Connor answers with his own smirk.

   “Don’t forget lycan. Not exactly flavour of the month at the moment.”

   Connor shrugs, scuffing his sneaker. “I’ll take my chances.”

   Derek smiles, quick, then sighs. “Thanks. I appreciate that. But Ithaca is a bit out of your way.”

   “It really isn’t. Here,” he pulls a pen from his backpack and takes Derek’s hand. His slim fingers are warm but not nearly enough to wrap around Derek’s wrist, his skin pale against the dark pelt of hair sweeping down his forearm. Derek’s stomach gives a small twist.

   “There,” Connor scribbles the last digit down on Derek’s wrist. “Call me if you need a ride.”

   Derek scans the number then meet those blue eyes again. “Thanks.”

oOo

“I _told_ you! There aren’t any rentals available!”

   “And I have told _you_ , sir, that we have no more _seats_ available,” the man behind the counter answers slowly.

   “I can see the bus from here, it’s half full!” Derek gestures through the front windows of the ticket office.

   “Sir,” the human beta sets his jaw. “You need to leave. Now.”

   “Are you serious?” Derek roughly shrugs his duffle over his shoulder, his other hand curled in a white-knuckle first on the little counter beneath the glass partition. “Just sell me a fucking tick-“  

   “Step away from the counter!” a voice booms behind him. Derek sighs before he slowly turns around. Two police officers stand by the entrance with their guns trained on him.

   “Step away from the counter,” the policeman repeats.

   “Or what? You gonna shoot me? An unarmed man, right out in public?” 

   “Just give me a reason,” the officer says, “and I will put your ass on the floor where it belongs.”

   Derek doesn’t blink. He barely gives the shaking weapon in the human’s hands any notice, instead pinning him down with eyes that flicker red.

   “I’ll barely feel a tickle, you know that, right?”

   “Wolfsbane bullets, you smug asshole.”

   Derek looks the two officers over. He slowly shakes his head. He drops his arm, letting his duffle hang from his hand. “This is _bull_ shit,” he stabs his finger at them.

   “Final warning.”

   Derek grinds his teeth together, his jaw as tight as a bow as he steps forward. The policeman jerk back, pistols trained right at his face as they move out of his way.

   Derek stalks out the ticket office and walks down the sidewalk a way before stopping. His molars are starting to ache and he forces himself to take a few deep breaths. He looks down at his boots, and in the glint of a streetlight spots the slightly smudged number on the inside of his wrist.

   He surprises himself with a little huff, and, fishing his cell from his pocket, flips it open and dials the number.

   “Connor? Yeah, hi, its Derek, ah, the guy from… yeah, yeah. Well, I’m glad I called too. Ah, is your offer still on the table?”   

oOo

“Woah. Okay, you are officially loaded,” Connor says as he parks his little hatchback in front of a pair of intricate wrought iron gates, flanked by fourteen-foot high stone pillars and walls that stretch the rest of the block.

   “Well, my _parents_ are,” Derek smirks while he unclasps his safety belt, having to dip his head to look out the window at the entrance to his home. A wide tarred driveway snakes its way from beyond the gates up into the thick woodland, lit sporadically by lights along its edge.

   “And then some,” Connor murmurs, also undoing his safety belt. “Now I feel really bad about my car,” he looks over to where Derek has moved the seat as far back as it will go, his legs still bent, top of his head scraping the roof.

   “Hey, I told you,” Derek smiles, opening his door, “I’m just grateful you could give me a ride, man.”

   “Don’t mention it,” Connor smiles back, a slight blush making the blue of his eyes stand out.

   Both climb out, Connor walking to the back while Derek stretches with a deep groan on the sidewalk, arms high above his head.

   “Here you go,” Connor hands him his duffle.

   “Thanks,” Derek smiles. “I really owe you.”

   “Take me out for a beer when we’re back on campus.”

   “Yeah?” Derek grins, swinging the duffle over his shoulder. “You not worried about being seen in public with me?”

   “Well, I did just spend four and a half hours with you. I think I’m good.”

   “Okay, cool,” Derek nods. “It’s a date, then.”

   Connor glances down at his shoes. Then he steps forward, one hand on Derek’s arm as he rises to his toes and pecks a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll hold you to it,” he smiles softly, stepping away.

   The twist is back in Derek’s stomach, a little bit bigger this time as his gaze follow Connor back around his car.

   “Take care, okay? I’ll catch you later,” Connor calls.

   “You bet,” Derek smiles. He watches him pull away from the curb, and stand there long after the little car has disappeared from view. Only then does he turn to the gate.

   “Hey, it’s me,” he says into the intercom.

   The giant gates silently swing open. He is halfway up the driveway, the lights of the Hale mansion winking at him through the trees when he spots his parents walking towards him, hand-in-hand, his two sisters flanking them.

   “Here comes the welcoming committee,” Derek grins.

   “Sweetheart,” Talia wraps her hand around his face and pull him down for a kiss before rubbing her face in his neck.

   “Hey, mom,” Derek hugs her closer, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling deeply.

   “Hey, little bro,” Laura grins. She gets tucked under his chin too while he reaches out to Cora.

   “Hey, pup.”

   “Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, but plasters herself to his hip just the same. She peers up at Derek. “They’re talking about a lycan registry on the news. They want to make suppressants mandatory.”

   “It’s just talk. People aren’t thinking straight right now,” a rich, soft baritone eases over them all, Derek’s father standing behind them with his hands at rest in his pockets.

   “Hey, dad.”

   “Son,” he smiles and pulls Derek in for a hug and some back slapping, his nose going to Derek’s throat. “Good to have you home.”

   Derek can’t quite tuck his father under his chin, but he still rubs his cheek against the man’s temple. “Good to be here.”

   “Sorry about the car.”

   Derek shrugs. “Yeah.”

   “Let’s go have supper, you must be starved,” Talia links arms with Derek.

oOo

“Are they still staring?”

   “Yup,” Connor nods and takes a swig of his beer.

   “Don’t worry,” Derek hooks the corner of his mouth. “They won’t try anything.”

   Connor looks past him at the table in the corner crowded with human alphas, the rest of the bar filled wall-to-wall with loud students. “You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

   “I’ve danced this dance many times,” Derek takes a swig and smack his lips. “They’re cowards. Relax.”

   “Easy for you to say,” Connor’s eyes slide over Derek’s bulk.

   Derek reaches out and fold his hand over Connor’s forearm, his fingers overlapping. “They won’t touch you. I’ll make sure of that.”

   “My own personal bodyguard,” Connor’s cheeks colour.

   Derek wiggles his eyebrows and takes another swig.

   Connor goes back to his own beer, his focus intent on the label. “I heard Massachusetts is following Texas and Alabama to legislate for the death penalty.”

   “ _Massachusetts_?”

   “Apparently the governor had two nieces in that school in Boise.”

   Derek sets his beer down a bit too hard. “I am not taking those fucking suppressants. That shit makes your brain leak out of your ears.”

   “You could go to jail. They’ve started that registry-”

   “Fuck the registry, it’s not mandatory.”

   “Not yet.”

   Derek turns his scowl on Connor, his jaw tight. He takes a long swig. “My family owns a couple of hectares of forest in a preserve upstate. We always go there during our ruts. Run ourselves ragged, hunker down…”

   “Find a mate?”

   Derek shrugs, which turns into a small grin. “Something like that.”

   “Until they put a stop to that too.”

   “Yeah, well,” Derek’s lip twitches, "Live while you can."

   Connor worries the corner of his beer’s label. “When is your rut?”

   “About a month. Why?”

   “Well,” Connor tears a strip of paper off, “human omegas are the best, you know, _suited_ , to lesson lycan ruts.”

   “So I’ve heard,” Derek tilts his head, his scowl gone.

   “So…”

   “So…?”

   Connor huffs. “Are you seriously gonna make me spell it out.”

   “Spell what out?” Derek frowns as he tries hard not to smile.

   “I take it back. You are a knothead.”

   “That hurts my feelings.”

   “Whatever, I’m not gonna kiss your ass,” Connor lifts his beer to his lips. “Go run around in the woods for all I care.”

   Derek threads their fingers together. Connor narrows his eyes, though he grips back without hesitation.

   “There’s a reason why human omegas don’t line up outside that club.”

   “Yeah, well, I _know_ you. And I know your protective instincts will kick in.” He squeezes Derek’s hand, dipping his chin to gaze at Derek through his bangs. “Besides, I… I’ve never met an alpha like you. Human _or_ Lycan.”

   Derek shifts in his seat. The warmth in his stomach has returned, his jeans growing tight around his crotch. He folds his fingers around Connors wrist and down the rest of his beer, never breaking eye contact. He sets the empty down and licks his lips. “Wanna get out of here?”

   Connor nods at once. “My dorm is a few blocks away.”

   Derek lets his eyes flash, puts a little sub-vocal growl in his voice. “Lead the way.”

oOo

“Well, it’s not like we can stop you,” Caleb says, reclining in his cigar chair, the fire in the grate reflected in his eyes.

   “We just want you to be certain,” Talia quickly fills in, her hands folded in her lap where she sits on the edge of her seat.

   “We are,” Derek looks between his parents before tightens his grip on Connor’s hand. “Very.”

   Talia switches her hands in her lap, a tight smile directed at Connor. “Have you discussed it with your parents yet, dear?”

   “Ah, my parents are dead,” Connor mirrors her smile.

   “Oh! Oh my, I’m so sorry.”

   “No, it’s cool, really. It happened a long time ago.”

   Talia nods, smile tighter as she glances at her husband.

   “So,” Derek sits upright, “I thought we could use the place in the Hamptons? It’s safe, secluded, well stocked. Connor and I-”

   “No,” Talia cuts him off, “If you’re going to do this, you’ll do it here where we can keep an eye on you two.”

   “In the _house_?” Derek’s eyes just about pop out of his face.

   “Of course not. We’ll set up the pool cottage. It’s private enough but close by.”

   Derek turns to his father.

   “Don’t look at me. You heard your alpha.”

   “Mom, this is stupid.”

   “Actually, I agree with your mom,” Connor says, touching Derek’s arms. “Your parents are better equipped if something should happen, after all.”

   “Nothing’s gonna happen,” Derek says, squeezing his thigh.

   “I know, but with the whole country on edge, and all the nut jobs crawling out of the woodwork,” he shrugs, “better not take any chances.”

   “I like him already.”

   Talia turns thin lips at her husband.

   “Fine,” Derek clenches out. “But Laura and Cora can’t be here.”

   “Laura’s doing her internship, and we’ll send Cora to uncle Peter.”

   “She hates uncle Peter.”

   “But she loves her cousins.”

   “Ugh,” Derek groans, leaning forward with his face in his hands. “I can’t believe you’re making do this.”

   “It’s for the best. Connor is right. If something were to happen while you’re at the beach house… Lord knows, that’s all we need right now.”

   Derek looks at Connor, elbows on his knees. Connor gives him an encouraging smile and lays a hand on his back. “It’ll be fine.”

   “Good,” Talia stands. “It’s settled then. Let’s have supper.”

   Connor jumps up. “Anything I can help with, missus Hale?” 

   “Talia, please,” she smiles warmly. “And you can help me carry the dishes. Thank you, honey.”

   “Not so fast,” Caleb says from his seat when Derek stands up to follow Connor and his mom out the room.

   With a bone-deep sigh he sits down again. “What?”

   Caleb peers over his shoulder to make sure they’re alone. “You seem pretty serious about him.”

   “So? I thought you liked him?”

   “I do like him. I just don’t want you to rush things.”

   “Dad, it’s not like I’m gonna claim him. We’re just spending my rut together.”

   “Exactly. And your rut’s gonna hit you like the walls of a hurricane. You won’t have your wits about you.”

   “Ah, hello, this won’t be my first time?”

   “It’ll be your first with a _human_ partner.”

   “And I’ll be fine. Besides, the pool house is fifty feet away.”

   “Hmm,” Caleb cocks an eyebrow, then finishes his drink.

   “Dad, seriously.”

   “Just… Promise me you’ll take it easy.”

   Derek angles his head. “Are you scared I’m gonna hurt him?”

   “Of course not. I’m more worried about _you_ getting hurt.”

   “Dad,” Derek deadpans, “I can fit my hands around his waist.”

   “And don’t let that blind you.”

   “What’s that supposed to mean?”

   “Just because we’re bigger and stronger than humans, doesn’t mean we’re invincible. Remember that.”

   Derek sits back with a groan. “Whatever. Can we go now? I’m starving.”

   With a last look Caleb stands, and Derek follows his lead. He claps Derek on the shoulder as they walk out of the study. “Interesting surname the boy has. _Argent_. Old French, I believe, means ‘silver’.”

   “Isn’t that ironic,” Derek snorts.

oOo

“You okay?” Derek smiles, squeezing Connor’s thigh once he’s settled in the passenger seat.

   “Fine. Why?” Connor smiles right back, clutching his backpack to his lap.

   “You seem nervous.”

   “Why would I be nervous? You’ll take care of me.”

   “Of course,” Derek squeezes his thigh again. “Of course I will.”

   “Good. Let’s go.”

   With a last peek, Derek pulls away from the curb in front of Connor’s dorm.

oOo

“No, it’s okay,” Connor pulls his backpack from Derek’s grip, before he offers a tight smile. “I got it.”

   Derek let’s go of his back and steps back. “Okay. Ah, bedroom’s through there,” he points. While Connor gets settle, he turns on a few lamps in the dark living room, all the shutters closed tight. He catches his hand shaking, and quickly wipes at the sweat beading his brow.

   He lifts his nose to inhale Connors sweet omega scent, but the trembling remains.

   When Connor finally comes out of the bedroom, arms folded, Derek puts on his most comforting smile, at first not sure what to do with his hands. “Hey. You good?”

   “Fine,” Connor shrugs with a quick smile.

   Derek sits down on one of the rattan couches, knees falling open, an arm slung over the back. “Wanna get comfortable?”

   Connor eyes him for just a second too long before he drops his arms and saunter over. “Sure,” he smiles.

   “You sure you’re okay?” Derek asks once Connor has sat down, a good arms-length from him.

   “Fine, just,” he looks around the dusk-shrouded room, “Waiting to see what happens.”

   A strange sharpness makes his stomach contract - nothing like the warmth he felt when he first met the omega. He shakes it off with an easy smile. “Want me to give you a taste?”

   Connor grins, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Why not.”

   Derek hesitates only a second before he pulls him closer.

oOo

Connor’s slim fingers are twisted in Derek’s chest hair, his feet scrabbling at Derek’s back as Derek cups his tight little ass with his other hand holding him by the back of his neck while he plunders his mouth. He can feel his claws prick at the soft flesh of the omega’s buttocks, the tender skin at the back of his neck.

   “Last chance to run, baby boy,” he growls, his tongue getting caught on his canines, licking up Connor’s throat.

   “Stop wasting time,” Connor replies breathlessly.

   That same sharp pinch flares at the back of Derek’s stomach at his tone, but again he shakes it off, easier this time with the way his mind is all dulled. “Eager, aren’t we?”

   “Yeah, eager. Now let’s go, _alpha_ ,” Connor rolls his hips against the steely planes of Derek’s stomach, his hands gripping at his arms.

   Derek growls and pulls away from the wall where he had him pinned. He walks to the bed in the dim light, all the walls in the guest bedroom of the pool cottage clad in temporary sound-dampening drywall, the low hum of the newly installed air conditioning unit circulating the already musk-laden air.

   Something still tickles his nose – not sure if it’s the mustiness of the cottage after standing locked up for so long after winter – but the wriggling omega in his arms keep on distracting him from identifying the strange scent. He roughly drops Connor on the mattress, doesn’t even wait for him to stop bouncing before he crowds him down with his bulk, kneeing his legs open to grind down.

   Connor groans under the weight but clamp his legs and arms around the broadness of Derek’s shoulders and back none the less. “Fuck me, c’mon, fuck me with that knot of yours, show me you’re a real alpha.”

   Derek growls and grinds down hard once before gathering Connor’s wrists in one hand and slamming them down above his head. “Real alpha, huh?” Derek slurs, his rut already shutting down most of his brain. He pushes one of Connors knees to his chest, which lifts his hips, and Derek rolls his hips forward, his erection slipping down the omega’s crack.

   It’s completely dry.

   “C’mon, what’re you waiting for.”

   Derek frowns. He rolls his hips down again, but again his cock finds nothing but warm, dry skin. He let’s go of Connor’s wrist and hike his other leg up as well, spreading his thighs to inspect the omega’s hole.

   Small, light pink. Completely normal.

   “You’re… not…”

   He can feel Connor twist around the bed, but his muddled brain keeps getting snagged on the omega’s lack of arousal.

   It is the sudden sharp burn of aconite in his nose, and not Connor’s words that has Derek look up sharply. Connor is holding a hunter’s knife – the size of a machete in his small hand - the origin of the wolfsbane stink clear in the black smears along the blade.

   Derek has time to blink, time to watch as Connor’s face twist into a sneer before fire blooms in his side, robbing him of his breath.

   “For Boise, you half breed,” Connor spits before he rips the knife out and plunge it right back again, twisting it between his ribs to leave it there.

   When Derek finally sucks in air, the roar that explodes from his throat rattles the soundproof boards, Connor’s legs slipping from his grip. His claws shoot out, his face twisting as bone and muscle reshape itself.

   He slashes out blindly, his claws only ripping into sheets. His arms are shaking and he pitches forward. His whole chest is on fire, radiating outward from where the blade is stuck.

   He manages to turn his head to see Connor pulling on clothes, his face a mask of hatred.

   “Why… w-why…” Derek groans, though it’s only garbled vowels that leave his squashed lips.

   Suddenly there’s a small Jerry can in Connor’s hand. “Burn in hell, you fucking monster,” he whispers as the acrid stench of gasoline fills Derek’s nose.

   He tries to lift himself off the bed, but the strength has left his arms, the flames in his side slowly strangling his lungs now. He shivers as heat finds the cold sweat covering his skin. It is real flames though, licking up the boards, finding curtains and upholstery as it feeds itself.

   Derek somehow manages to roll onto his back, blacking out for a few seconds from the pain. When his vision clears again, flames are dancing across the ceiling. He can taste blood. He coughs, spraying red droplets across his face. Somewhere in his mind the fact that he can’t smell smoke should bother him more than his limbs going numb.

   The room is filled with popping sounds, glass shattering. He thinks his skin is starting to singe, but it could also be the wolfsbane slowly devouring his body. He coughs again and a stream of dark blood trickles from the corner of his mouth.

   A few more popping sounds find his ears, muffled, as if from the next room. He thinks someone screams. There’s a roar. Someone is roaring and screaming. More popping sounds. The scream gets cut off abruptly.

  His skin is definitely singeing now. He can smell it, smell burning hair too, but still no pain, just the slow spread of aconite flames through his body and his throat filling with blood.

   The bedroom door shatters inward. Derek is barely able to turn his head. Only when the stranger is lifting him off the bed does Derek recognise his father, and only by his scent, heavily masked by smoke and wolfsbane.

   They stumble through the flames, all of his weight supported by his dad.

   At last fresh air rush over him and his knees buckle, his father going down with him. The paving stones around the pool are icy cold against his skin, the scent of pine needles and wet mulch not enough to bury the stink of aconite. In fact, it grows stronger.

   “No! ’m fine! Inject Derek first!” his dad yells.

   The knife is pulled from his side. He screams but no sound comes out. A sting follows at once as a needle is plunged into the wound. His head falls to the side. He watches as his dad lies down, a hand over his chest where several stains of blood flower and spread.

   “D-dad…” he gargles through a mouthful of blood, wanting to apologise for getting blood on his shirt.

   His mother crouches over her husband. She stabs him with an injector. “Caleb? Can you hear me? Caleb! It’s not working!” she yells, shaking his dad before she plunges the injector into his chest again.

   The fire is leaving Derek’s body, but his mind remains smothered by the fog it leaves behind. He catches sight of another body lying a bit away from them just as a breeze ruffles blond hair, the person’s neck twisted at a horrible angle, a handgun lying at his feet. gunpowder stings his nose.

_Wolvesbane bullets._

   “Caleb! Wake up! Please, oh god, wake up!”

   Derek goes to sleep with the wailing of sirens and fire crackling in the background, the coppery taste of blood swirling around in his mouth.

oOo

Derek runs his hand up and down Stiles back, his other hand cupped around his neck as Stiles lies chest-to-chest on top of him. The tips of his claws are still out, and he is careful with his teeth when lowers his head to suckle at the mark he left on Stiles’ neck.

   He shifts to get comfortable against the cushion, which emits a small squelch in the stillness of the room.

   “Hmmm,” Stiles groans and clenches around his knot, causing another squelch.

   “Sorry,” Derek smiles, and leaves a kiss against side of his head. “How're you feeling?”

   “Hmmm,” Stiles groans again. He snuffles against Derek’s chest, rubbing his nose through the hair in the deep cleft between his pecs. He inhales deeply. “Smell good.”

   “I smell like sweat and spunk,” Derek grins, his cock twitching inside Stiles, still semi hard.

   “Like it.”

   “Well, you have no idea how good _you_ smell, baby.”

   “Sweat and spunk?” Stiles mumbles with his lips mashed against Derek’s chest.

   “And me.”

   “Hmmm,” Stiles hums again, and unfolds his hands from where they’ve been tucked against Derek’s chest. He slides them around Derek’s torso. When his fingers graze over the bumpy scars on Derek’s side, he stops, quickly pulling back. “Sorry.”

   “No, it’s okay,” Derek takes his hand and puts it back against the scars. “You know I don’t mind.”

   Stiles turns his head to the side, his fingers tracing what his eyes can’t see. “I don’t know how I missed it during your rut.”

   “Well,” Derek caresses the back of his head, “I was distracting you. A lot.”

   “Yes, you were,” Stiles sighs and snuggles back against his warm solidness. He contracts his core muscles.

   Derek huffs and squeezes the back of his neck. “It’s almost down.”

   “No, it’s not that, I…” Stiles pushes up from Derek’s chest. It makes warm wetness seep from where they are joined, and both groan softly at the pressure, Derek’s hands circling Stiles’ waist. “You were right. I can feel you,” Stiles’ long fingers trace over the mark on his neck.

   “Told you,” Derek smiles softly.

   “It’s so weird, it’s like, I have memories of dreams that I’ve never dreamt. Does that… does that even make sense?”

   Derek runs his thumb up to Stiles’ bellybutton. “Perfectly.” 

   Stiles smirks lazily. “Think I’ll able to read your mind?”

   Derek shakes with silent laughter. “No,” he rubs up from Stiles waist. “But we’ll be more attuned to each other’s emotions.”

   “Yeah?”

   Derek nods, then wiggle his eyebrows. “Better watch your step, little omega.”

   “Whatever,” Stiles flicks his nipple.

   Derek grabs his hand and brings it to his lips.

   Stiles leans forward. Derek pulls him in the rest of the way with his hand around his neck. They kiss, slow. Stiles leans in further, until his fingers tighten around Derek’s shoulders and the alpha grunts into his mouth when his knot slips free with a slow gush of slick and seed.

   Their breath mingles, warm and moist.

   “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Derek rubs up his back.

   When they are dried off – Stiles still a bit wobbly on his knees – Derek disinfects the bite mark before he covers it with gauze, Stiles sitting on the edge of the bed wrapped up in a fluffy towel.

   After that, Derek turns off all the lights, shuts the curtains and turns off their cell phones. When he joins Stiles in bed he is already pliant with sleep, naked and warm. Derek slides in behind him and pulls him closer, fits him into the cradle of his larger frame.

   “Love you,” he whispers into Stiles’ shampoo-fresh hair.

   Stiles’ hand tightens around the thick, hairy forearm crossed over his chest. “Love you too, my big bad wolf.”  

oOo

Stiles looks around his empty apartment. He’s holding a small box with some books and framed pictures inside. His clothes and a few other boxes have already been taken by the movers.

   “That the last one?” Derek calls from the open door.

   “Yeah,” Stiles answers, gaze roaming over the empty floor.

   Derek walks up behind him. “You okay?” he asks as he settles his hands around Stiles’ waist.

   “Yeah,” Stiles nods after a few moments, smiling. “I’m good.”

oOo


End file.
